The Silver Arrow Page 8

  “Senga…” he’d blurted oot.

  “Ah’m sorry, Rory, Ah cannae stoap noo…there’s patients coming in, some wae terrible injuries. Ah’m aff the morra. Meet me at The Station Café oan the corner ae Cathedral and Queen Street at twelve o’clock,” she’d panted oan the way past.

  It hid never occurred tae Senga that he might no be able tae make it and wis probably in a clinic wae his patients. Oan the wan haun, she wisnae too bothered if he didnae turn up as she’d been dreading meeting up wae him, bit oan the other, she knew that speaking tae him wis inevitable and she needed tae get it o’er and done wae and oot ae the road. She took a sip ae her hot tea and looked oot the windae. The rain wis battering aff ae the road as passers-by wur getting their umbrellas entangled wae each other. The wans nearest the road wur jumping back fae the ootside ae the pavement tae avoid the splashes ae the dirty water as the wheels ae the buses picked up speed efter turning left oot ae Dundas Street, heiding towards Castle Street and beyond. She felt the throb and rumble ae the trains under her feet, coming and gaun fae Queen Street Station and smiled at the shapes that seemed tae be magically appearing and disappearing in the billowing clouds ae steam and smoke engulfing the bridge twenty or so yards alang fae where she wis sitting. She thought she’d spotted Ben McCalumn oan the pavement opposite tae where she wis sitting, bit when she’d looked closer, the bit ae the pavement where she thought she’d spotted him, hid disappeared under a cloud ae white steam. Efter it hid blown away, he’d disappeared, if it hid actually been him. Senga liked people-watching, especially oan summer days. Oan dreich days like today, everywan wis huddled under their coats and umbrellas, scurrying tae wherever they wur gaun, wearing their best grim expressions that they kept in a drawer by their beds jist fur days when the wind and rain showed nae mercy tae auld or young, rich or poor. In the summer, there wis nothing she liked better than tae be sitting oan a bench wae Kim Sui doon in George Square wae a sandwich, checking oot the cool gear that aw the lassies and guys wur wearing, wandering by. Kim Sui wid sit and point oot the origins ae the copied designs oan display.

  “Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, shite Ralph Lauren, Roy Halston, a good Yves St Laurent, bad Gucci, Jaeger, Furstenberg.”

  Occasionally Kim Sui wid run efter somewan tae ask where they’d goat the piece ae clothing they wur wearing, which inevitably wid turn oot tae hiv been made by her or wan ae her design team. Senga wis jist wondering whit mode ae transport Rory wid be arriving in when a taxi came tae a stoap right ootside the windae she wis sitting at, haudin up a frustrated bus driver oan a green light.

  “Senga, darling,” he exclaimed, looking at bit startled when his kiss landed oan her cheek insteid ae her lips when he sat doon. “How are you?” he asked, sounding concerned, taking her hauns in his.

  “Oh, Ah’m fine, Rory. Ur ye wanting tae order yersel something?” she asked, slipping her hauns oot ae his.

  “In a minute, darling. I just want to make sure everything’s alright with you…with us,” he pleaded, the question left hinging in the air, expectation reflected in they saft, hazel-broon eyes ae his.

  “Look, Rory, Ah’m sorry, Ah know Ah should’ve been in touch sooner, bit there’s been so much happening jist noo…Ah’m sorry,” she said, her voice quivering slightly.

  “Hush…you don’t have to apologise. You’re here now…the both of us are,” he replied…in expectation.

  “Look, Rory, Ah’m sorry…it isnae gonnae work…the baith ae us, Ah mean,” she managed tae say, feeling guilty at the disappointment flashing across they eyes ae his.

  “Why?”

  “Because it jist isnae…Ah’m sorry.”

  “But surely I’m entitled to know why? What have I done? Tell me and I’ll change,” he pleaded.

  “Rory, I don’t want ye tae change. Ye’ve nothing that needs changing. It’s me…Ah’m the wan that’s changed.”

  “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  “Who?”

  “The jailbird Lizzie told me about.”

  “Oh, she did, did she? And whit else his she be saying?” Senga demanded tae know, cursing Lizzie under her breath.

  “Only that you recently went all the way down to Dumfries to visit him whilst I was down in Newcastle…the one that attempted to murder those two unfortunate police officers in that bank up on Maryhill Road.”

  “He’s innocent.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Ye heard me.”

  “Senga, Senga, my God, darling, what’s got into you?” he squealed, clearly exasperated, as if he wis talking tae some naughty wean, attempting tae take her hauns back intae his again.

  “Rory, please don’t patronise me. Ah might only be nineteen, bit Ah know whit Ah know, okay?” she flashed at him.

  “Look, I’m not saying you’ve done anything wrong. I’m worried…Lizzie is worried.”

  “Is she?” Senga replied drily, looking across at the people queuing up at the till tae pay their bill.

  “Lizzie said that you’ve known this…er…”

  “Johnboy,” she quickly reminded him, turning back tae face him.

  “…Johnboy, since you were both young and in primary school.”

  “And?”

  “And well, look, don’t take this the wrong way, but there are females, some women, who write to people in prison…who end up becoming infatuated with the person, even though they don’t really know them. The little research that’s been done has highlighted that it usually ends in tears, sometimes drastically so, in that the person on the outside has ended up…er…a victim of manipulation or worse…violence.”

  “Oh, fur God’s sake, Rory! Ur ye serious or whit? Dae ye think whit ye’ve jist come oot wae applies tae somewan like me?”

  “Look, darling, I’m not saying you, personally, but I’m just pointing out the dangers that others have experienced.”

  “Ah cannae believe whit Ah’ve jist heard, especially coming fae you. Ye make me sound as if Ah’m some sort ae jail groupie or something,” Senga scoffed, offended.

  “Senga, please, I’m not saying you are, but Lizzie told me that you haven’t had…you know, a real relationship with this…this convict.”

  “Oh, his she? Look, Ah’ve known Johnboy Taylor aw ma life. Aye, it’s true we hivnae went oot, at least no as boy and girlfriend…that kind ae thing…bit whether you or Lizzie want tae believe it or no, Ah’ve loved him since Ah first clapped eyes oan him as a five-year-auld, so Ah hiv,” she said, feeling the tears well up in her eyes, trying tae contain the anger rising in her chest and resenting the look ae pity in they eyes ae his.

  “Look, I didn’t come here to fight with you, darling. I love and respect you, but for the life of me, I just can’t understand why you would want to throw away everything we have,” he pleaded, close tae tears.

  “Rory, whit hiv we goat?”

  “I bought a ring.”

  “Oh Rory, please…”

  “Look, I love you. I thought that we were at a stage where we could take our relationship to the next level. You’ve met my parents.”

  “Oh, Ah’m sorry, I never asked ye how yer da wis daeing efter his stroke?”

  “He’s fine. It’s us that require emergency resuscitation. I’ve rented a cottage…out near Balfron…for next weekend,” he said, hesitantly…hopefully.

  “I’m sorry, I cannae…”

  “Lizzie said you don’t have shifts that weekend.”

  “Rory, I can’t…Ah’m sorry. It jist widnae work,” she pleaded.

  “Senga, how well do you know this…Johnboy…I mean, really know him?”

  “I’ve jist telt ye, I’ve known him maist ae ma life. My ma and his baith worked thegither as cleaners in the local schools years ago. They wur the best ae friends up until Helen Taylor died a few years back.”

  “No, I mean, really know him?”

  “Oh Rory, fur God’s sake…I thought ye wur a clinical psychiatrist and that criminal psychology wis a different field?”

  “It is,
but I spent a year studying criminal psychology as part of my training.”

  “So, whit ur ye getting at?”

  “Look, from what I can gather, he’s been in and out of prison or some other criminal institution for most of his life.”

  “And, yer point is?” she asked tersely.

  “All I’m pointing out is that you’re attracted to someone who has been locked up, under close supervision, during his formative years. Don’t you think there could be underlying issues, complex issues that aren’t visible on the surface…relationship issues?”

  “Ah’m still no sure whit ye’re getting at.”

  “What I’m getting at is that you’re implying you’re in love with a recidivist, a person who’s probably been feral since childhood, someone that has lived outwith the bounds of what you and I would call civilised society,” he pleaded, looking her straight in the eye.

  “Feral? Is that no jist another word that describes freedom?”

  “Oh Senga, for God’s sake! Whilst most people would have been brought up in a family unit, your…er…so-called friend would have been making up the rules as he went along,” Rory challenged her wae a wave ae his haun towards the backs ae the raincoats huddled oan the other side ae the glass, waiting fur the lights tae change. “Surely even you must realise that there’s bound to be mental health baggage attached to someone who is quite clearly a sociopath…at the very least?”

  “Is this your attempt at trying tae persuade me tae forget him?”

  “No, I can understand your wish to support a friend in need…particularly if you believe he’s innocent, but to throw away what we have…could have…does seem a bit extreme.”

  “Rory, he’s innocent, believe you me.”

  “Does he also share your feelings?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You heard me. Has he declared his love for you?”

  Silence.

  “Oh Senga, darling…” Rory groaned.

  “Look, Ah don’t like where this conversation is gaun. Ah’m sorry, bit Ah hiv tae go,” she said suddenly, turning tae pick up her coat fae the chair beside her.

  “No, please, don’t. Look, you stay here…I’ll go. I need to get back to work. I have a clinic at two o’clock,” Rory said miserably, staunin up and looking doon at her. “Senga, please, I beg you…I love you.”

  “Ah’m sorry, Rory. Ah never wanted tae hurt ye…please go,” she said, her voice shaking, as she looked oot ae the windae at the huddled crowd, gathering oan the street corner again, waiting fur the lights tae change.

  When she turned roond, he wis gone. He must’ve turned left efter he’d exited the front door and heided doon Queen Street towards the station taxi rank.

  “Ur ye awright, hen? Kin Ah get ye anything else?” the waitress asked her, arriving wae pencil and pad in haun.

  “I’m fine…no, sorry…kin Ah hiv a black coffee this time…a mug, please?”

  “Nae problem, hen. Listen, Ah know it’s none ae ma business, bit don’t you go getting yersel intae a bit ae a tizzy o’er some cretin ae a man. They’re no worth it, so they’re no…especially wan that bubbles in public and who looks like he’s in dire need ae a psychiatrist. Mark ma words, ye’re listening tae experience talking here, so ye ur,” the waitress informed her kindly, before turning and trooping back tae the hissing steam machine sitting oan tap ae the coonter.

  Senga took a tissue oot ae her sleeve and dabbed her eyes, trying no tae mess up her mascara. It hid gone better than she’d expected, even though she hidnae been too sure whit tae expect. She felt ashamed at being angry at Rory, particularly since it wis her that wis daeing the dirty oan him. She fully understood his need tae defend his position, bit she’d been taken aback by where he wis coming fae. Did she really know Johnboy Taylor? Whit kind ae question wis that? She’d known Johnboy aw her days. She resented Rory using his knowledge ae psychology tae back-up his argument. She’d known plenty ae lassies that hid gone oot wae jailbirds, waited fur them until they hid served their sentences and then gone oan tae live happily ever efter. Of course, people like Johnboy, Tony Gucci and Silent wid’ve been affected, even damaged by the system, bit did that make them warped and twisted people? And Rory’s question as tae whether Johnboy hid the same feelings towards her as she did towards him? Of course he did…didn’t he? Senga tried tae remember their conversation during the visit when she’d asked him tae be quiet and let her speak. She knew that it hid been a big thing she wis asking ae him…tae gie up The Mankys and move away fae Glesga…tae start a new life somewhere else. Whit hid been his exact response? She remembered that he’d held her haun, bit hid he agreed unequivocally? They’d tentatively kissed at the end ae the visit, bit hid he professed his love fur her? She couldnae believe that she couldnae remember. She felt her heid spin. Everything that hid been gaun oan and said between them hid been emotionally charged. He must’ve though…surely? She’d received a lovely warm letter at the tail end ae the previous week. Granted, he hidnae been swearing undying love in it…far fae it. In fact, he’d been questioning how realistic it wis fur them tae be fully committing themsels at this stage, rather than wait until later. He’d pointed oot how slow the judicial process wis in considering appeal cases and hid repeatedly asked her if this is whit she truly wanted tae dae wae her life. Despite that, he seemed tae be making aw the right noises, considering this wis fae somewan who hidnae written tae her since he’d been up in Barlinnie awaiting trial eighteen months earlier. She knew Johnboy Taylor, his personality, the lassies he’d gone oot wae o’er the years, however briefly, and nowan hid ever fed back or suggested that he wis carrying aboot some psychological issues in that heid ae his. Lizzie hid also challenged her oan this issue efter Senga’d arrived hame fae the visit doon tae Dumfries and informed her ae her decision tae stoap seeing Rory and tae stick it oot wae Johnboy.

  “He’s in jail fur how long?”

  “Another eight years,” she’d replied.

  “So, whit dis sticking by Johnboy mean? Surely, no living like a nun…no at your age?”

  “It means no gieing him any reason tae doubt me and cause him any embarrassment. Who says ye hiv tae go oot and drap yer knickers tae hiv some fun?” she’d cruelly retorted at Lizzie.

  “Look, nobody’s saying ye hiv tae live like Julie Andrews, bit whit happens if Fantasy Boy turns oot tae be some sort ae psycho who cannae relate tae ye unless ye tie him up in hauncuffs eight years doon the line, eh?”

  “Lizzie, whit the hell ur ye oan aboot?” she’d asked, laughing.

  “Him. How dae ye know he even knows how tae conduct himsel in a relationship? By the time he gets oot, he’ll be well institutionalised, if he’s no awready. Whit dis that mean? It disnae sound tae me as if that’s a good starting point fur a relationship. And tae wait eight years tae find oot that it isnae gonnae work? Christ, bit excuse me,” Lizzie hid retorted, heiding aff tae work.

  “There ye go, hen. Ah’ve slipped ye a wee Digestive biscuit in there oan the hoose, tae cheer ye up, so Ah hiv,” the waitress said, smiling, putting doon the steaming mug in front ae her.

  How well did she know Johnboy? That wis the question, or rather, how good ae a judge ae character wis she really? She wisnae as naïve as tae believe that Johnboy and his pals wur yer normal run-ae-the-mill boys she wis looking oot at oan the other side ae the glass, heiding up Cathedral Street wae their Strathclyde university scarves wrapped tightly roond their necks tae keep the rain and cauld aff ae them. Bit hid Johnboy no agreed that when he wis released oan appeal, which hopefully wid be soon, that him and Senga wid move oot ae Glesga and set up where nowan knew them, where they’d be able tae start a new life thegither? Wis that no whit they’d agreed? She knew fur it tae work, Johnboy wid need tae move away fae the toon and The Mankys. The temptation, or rather the ootside influences wid jist be too great if he didnae. Wid Joe McManus and Kate Simpson still be alive if they’d jist disappeared withoot telling anywan? It hid only been ten days since the visit, bit awready she’d felt
the intrusion ae the Springburn crowd, and in particular, The Mankys, in her life. Efter drapping aff aw the other lassies back oan tae Keppochhill Road where they’d been picked up ootside the Springburn Halls the day before tae heid doon tae Dumfries, Simon Epstein hid then driven in tae The West End tae drap Senga aff at her flat oan Barrington Avenue. Oan the route, he’d mentioned aboot her and Lizzie getting a phone installed, bit they’d awready hid that in haun, efter her and Lizzie hid isolated themsels by anchoring at hame fur nearly two weeks, scared tae answer the door in case it hid been The Stalker or Wan-bob Broon, come tae murder them. Then there hid been the escorted visit tae the lawyer wae The Thompson Twin in the bowler hat, which, although stressful, hid gone fine enough by aw accounts. Gaun by whit Lizzie hid said, it sounded as if they’d been nice and gentle oan her.

  “Bowler Hat? Whit Bowler Hat?” Lizzie hid asked, efter arriving back oot in the reception efter gieing her statement tae The Brief and Senga hid described the Welsh guy as looking like wan ae The Thompson Twins fae The Adventures ae Tintin.

  The maist recent intrusion hid been the day before when Lizzie hid nearly hid a heart attack when she’d answered the door.

  “Er, ye better talk tae ma flatmate,” Senga hid heard Lizzie say in a wee subdued, frightened voice, efter Senga hid gone tae find oot who wis at the door ae the flat.